


a little bit closer

by fliptomybside



Category: Harry Styles (Musician), One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Canon, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-02
Updated: 2018-07-02
Packaged: 2019-06-01 10:43:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15141374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fliptomybside/pseuds/fliptomybside
Summary: It's not the first time Harry's gotten down on his knees in front of Mitch.





	a little bit closer

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry not sorry, Harry Styles has an oral fixation, unbeta-ed so all mistakes are mine, title from Tegan and Sara - Closer, please don't let the real people that this is about see it, etc. etc.

It’s not the first time Harry’s gotten down on his knees in front of Mitch, but it’s the first time he’s done it in front of thousands of people. He sticks his tongue out and pouts and Mitch just looks down, past Harry’s face and his knees and at his own white shoes, shoes he’s pretty sure his grandpa wore in the mid-nineties.

It’s not the first time Mitch has wished Harry would do it without two guitars between them, either. But he never does, he just gets up and grins, dimple pressed deep in his cheek and tongue still sticking out at Mitch, obscene and ridiculous at the same time. Like everything about Harry, really. 

-

“Mitchell,” he drawls afterwards, hooking his chin over Mitch’s shoulder. 

Mitch is sticky sweaty, hair plastered to his forehead in a way that makes him think he should forego hats in the future. He can’t tell who’s sweatier, him or Harry, but the infuriating thing is that Harry somehow still smells good, like boy and Tom Ford. Mitch isn’t sure if he just thinks Harry smells good because he’s Harry or if Harry’s been blessed with the gift of being able to sweat excessively without smelling bad. Either option is equally possible. 

“Harry,” Mitch says when Harry slides his arms around Mitch’s waist instead of moving away like he usually does. 

He wants to believe that there’s a warning in his voice, but Mitch has no boundaries when it comes to Mitch and Harry, well. Harry’s Harry, all dimples and octopus limbs that everyone wants. 

“Can you believe this is it?”

Mitch can feel Harry’s throat vibrate against his shoulder and Harry’s breath against his neck and his hair (sweaty, curly) tickling his ear.

“Nope,” Mitch says, shrugging away from Harry’s body and stripping his t-shirt off. 

Harry usually leaves the venue still in his full suit, but they still feel like someone else’s skin to Mitch. Like when he puts them on he’s some version of himself that he doesn’t recognize. One that doesn’t exist when he’s not on stage, Harry on his knees in front of him. 

“Not sure what I’m going to do without you around to entertain me.”

Mitch rolls his eyes with his back to Harry so he won’t see. 

“I think you’ll manage,” he says dryly, because Harry will.

Because Harry has twenty people like Mitch in his life. A million different places he can go from here, each one welcoming him with open arms. Give it a month and it’ll be complete radio silence from Harry. Mitch knows because that’s what happened before. Harry crawling into his bed every other night and then three months of silence, Mitch fucking around LA and getting sunburned. 

“I don’t,” Harry says, and his voice is soft but Mitch can hear the pout in it. 

Half of him wants to turn around and push Harry back into his own dressing room with its black curtains and velvet couch and pillows that cost more than Mitch’s first car. The other half wants to drag him in close and dare him to follow through. Harry doesn’t really do that, not all the way. He’ll get ninety nine percent there and sit back on his heels, figuratively speaking. Mitch lost count of the number of times he fell asleep with Harry’s lips pressed against the back of his neck and woke up alone, the other side of the bed cold. 

“You did okay before I came along,” Mitch says, turning around and raising an eyebrow at Harry.

He wishes he hadn’t taken his shirt off, because Harry can’t seem to keep his eyes on Mitch’s face now, and Mitch’s body isn’t anything to write home about. 

“You don’t know that.”

Mitch waits for him to say something else, maybe something self deprecating or something about “Fate, Mitch, it intervened,” like he has in the past, but Harry doesn’t.

He takes one step closer and picks at his lower lip. Tugs at it until it’s puffy and red between his fingers. 

“What are you doing,” Mitch croaks, unable to look away from Harry’s fingers and his mouth.

“Nothing,” Harry says, and he sounds petulant and Mitch isn’t sure why. 

“I’m gonna get changed, so,” Mitch trails off because he just wants to be back at his apartment, in the shower, probably jerking off thinking about Harry looking up at him from under his eyelashes.

“Just—” Harry starts, “wait, okay,” and he takes another step forward, then another, then his nose is brushing against’ Mitch’s and it’s not the first time Harry’s done that, either. 

Harry’s face is out of focus this close, just shadowy blurs and sweat, and his hand comes up to cup the side of Mitch’s face and he tilts his head slightly to Mitch’s right and Mitch has kissed and been kissed before but he still doubts that this is actually happening until Harry’s mouth is on his, slick and humid and faintly minty.

Mitch has kissed enough people to know that Harry’s good at it. He thinks, anyway, or maybe it’s just another one of those things where Mitch is too overwhelmed with the fact that it’s Harry to make a solid judgement. 

Harry shuffles in closer and steps on one of Mitch’s feet.

“Sorry,” he breathes into Mitch’s mouth and Mitch doesn’t fucking care, just tugs him in closer, biting down a little on Harry’s bottom lip because Harry seems like the kind of guy who’s into that. 

Mitch grins when Harry huffs a groan into his mouth at that. His other hand comes up to dig into Mitch’s waist and he walks Mitch back, back, back, until he’s pressed up against the wall, concrete cold against his bare back. Mitch hisses.

“Fuck, sorry,” Harry says, panting against his cheek and nudging his hips against Mitch’s.

Mitch would be embarrassed at how hard he is if he couldn’t feel Harry. The fabric of their pants is too much and not enough, and Mitch can’t stop himself from leaning into Harry, against the hard line of him.

He’s seen Harry naked more times than he really cares to count, but this isn’t the same. For one thing, Harry’s fully clothed, still in his suit, shirt done all the way up with a bow. But he’s also hard and bleeding heat through said suit, pressing up against Mitch and biting at the corner of his jaw, hips twitching like he can’t help himself. 

Mitch is afraid to open his eyes and it feels like Harry’s going to disappear every time Mitch takes a breath. Like some spell or daydream will be broken and Mitch’ll be alone in his dressing room. 

Their lips make noise when Harry pulls back, and Mitch tries and fails to swallow a whine. Harry’s pupils are blown and his cheeks are flushed and they were just kissing, jesus.

Harry takes a deliberate step back and Mitch swallows and wonders if Harry can hear how loudly his heart’s beating. 

He won’t stop looking at Mitch, even as he goes to his knees, and Mitch is never going to get over this.

“Okay?”

Harry’s voice is raspy and he hasn’t even touched Mitch’s dick yet. Seeing Harry’s mouth that close to it is enough to make Mitch twitch in his pants and blush.

“Yeah,” Mitch says, and he tries and fails to imagine a scenario in which someone says no to Harry.

“Okay,” Harry says, voice lower than Mitch has ever heard it, and he leans in and noses along the line of Mitch’s cock and Mitch thinks it shouldn’t be hot, really, but it is and he can’t help pushing forward against the pressure. 

“Yeah,” Harry says, and Mitch can see him palming himself and the way the fabric of his suit is stretched tight across his thighs and it makes him a little light headed. 

Mitch watches him drag his nose up, up and then he’s biting at the thin skin at Mitch’s hips and Mitch gives up and groans.

“Harry, fuck.”

Harry pulls back and grins, rubs himself through his pants so Mitch can see.

He’s careful when he drags Mitch’s zipper down, and Mitch holds his breath, doesn’t trust himself to move, not when Harry’s looking up at him, nothing between them this time. He tugs them down Mitch’s thighs and then just. Breathes over the head of his cock before he mouths along it, making the fabric of Mitch’s boxers damp, the drag of them against his skin borderline unbearable.

Harry pulls back and sits back on his knees. Mitch feels like he’s going to scream or explode or both but Harry just unzips his own pants and yeah, he’s got nothing on underneath. Mitch isn’t sure why he expected anything else. Harry wraps a hand around his cock and his eyelids flutter shut and Mitch doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do with the image of Harry, cock in hand, biting viciously at his bottom lip, on his knees in front of Mitch.

Mitch’s eyes start to burn because he doesn’t want to let himself blink. Doesn’t want to miss any of this, not how tight Harry’s fist is or the shiny head of his cock peeking out of it or the way his lips look with he stops biting them and lets his mouth fall open. 

Harry stops after a minute, grips the base of his cock and takes a shaky breath before he leans back in, drags Mitch’s boxers down and slides down, swallows Mitch like he’s done it a million times before, his thumbs pressing into Mitch’s hips with bruising force. 

Mitch groans when he hits the back of Harry’s throat and then Harry’s moving, his lips tight around the head of Mitch’s cock and his fist covering the rest and Mitch is gone. Doomed, never going to be able to see anything but Harry’s cheeks hollowing around his cock when he closes his eyes ever again.

His thighs won’t stop shaking and he’s worried he’s actually going to slide down the wall and ruin all of this. This, Harry pulling back and jerking him off, staring at Mitch’s cock and getting his other hand around himself and it’s too much but not enough.

“C’mon,” Harry says, voice rough and eyes watering, “come for me, please.”

He takes the head of Mitch’s cock into his mouth again and starts to slide down, blinking up at Mitch the whole time and Mitch gives in, coming in Harry’s mouth, Harry pulling back at the last second so Mitch can watch him spill over Harry’s bottom lip.

“Yeah,” he says, pressing into Mitch’s hips and swallowing before he sucks Mitch’s cock down one more time, Mitch wincing with sensitivity.

When he pulls back, Mitch can see where he’s come on his fancy suit pants. 

-

Six months out and Mitch still fucking thinks about it. At least once a day. He’s started keeping a tally because it was getting out of hand. Is still out of hand. Literally.

Some days are worse than others. Some days he gets up, drinks orange juice, goes to the studio and writes with someone else. Doesn’t think about Harry’s eyes watering and how he swallowed around Mitch’s cock and slid all the way down like he’d been waiting to do it for months. 

Some days he wakes up hard, hands searching for Harry on his other side and not finding anything but the body pillow he bought at Bed, Bath, & Beyond three months ago when he realized this was a problem. 

He rides his bike to the studio for exercise. “Exercise,” Harry says in his head, because Mitch puts it on the easiest setting and takes his time, but at least he’s moving and doesn’t have to worry about finding a parking spot at home or the studio. 

He deletes Harry’s phone number in a dream and it’s still in his phone when he wakes up, but Harry doesn’t call or text and Mitch tries not to take it personally. 

-

“Harry’s been writing, I think,” Ryan says to him offhandedly, rooting through Mitch’s fridge even though he has an even nicer apartment with a nicer refrigerator and better food. 

Mitch stares at the line of Ryan’s spine under his t-shirt and grits his teeth.

“Okay,” he says after a minute, because he doesn’t want to give Ryan the reaction he’s looking for.

Ryan turns around with Mitch’s mostly empty bottle of orange juice in his hand. 

“Dude, really?”

He shakes the bottle at Mitch. There might be a sip left.

Mitch shrugs and Ryan rolls his eyes and finishes it off like it belongs to him. 

“I told him he should call you when he’s ready.”

Mitch fights to keep his face neutral and probably fails.

“Okay,” he repeats, “writing is my job, so I’d be an okay person to call.”

Ryan rolls his eyes again and Mitch thinks about telling him they’re going to get stuck like that if he’s not careful.

“Don’t be a dick. Pick up when he calls.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [here](http://polaroidgirlfriend.tumblr.com) on tumblr.


End file.
